


Halloween Candy

by Beth Harker (Beth_Harker)



Category: Newsies (1992), Newsies - All Media Types
Genre: College AU, M/M, Modern AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-30
Updated: 2016-12-30
Packaged: 2019-09-30 07:10:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,030
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17219303
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beth_Harker/pseuds/Beth%20Harker
Summary: modern college AU. Spot and Racetrack prepare to go trick or treating.





	Halloween Candy

It was October 31st, and Racetrack Higgins had no money, not a single filthy cent. What he did have was a pile of homework that he wasn’t going to do, a bag of ramen, and his roommate’s cheap ass coffee machine, that was good for boiling water and not much else.

The roommate in question was Spot Conlon, and he was watching with a smug expression as Race prepared his sad excuse for a supper.

“You brought this on yourself,” Spot reminded him.

“I didn’t bring anything on myself,” Race lied. “Just ‘cause I happen to like eating pasta…”

Spot rolled his eyes.

“Don’t look at me like that, and don’t you dare say this ain’t pasta.”

“It ain’t pasta,” Spot said in his very sweetest tone. He sauntered over to get a closer look at Race’s meal, which was steaming in its bowl, and really not that bad looking. “It’s barely even noodles.”

Racetrack wasn’t about to dignify that with a response. Spot was right. Spot was so overwhelmingly right that it just about put Racetrack off his meal, except not eating it would mean that Spot had won. Spot had already won Race’s last ten bucks in a round of Uno just that morning, and Race wasn’t about to let him have this round in the game of life. He was going to savor every last morsel of his gourmet ramen experience even if it killed him. He looked Spot right in the eye, shoved his spoon into his mouth… and promptly screamed, spraying broth and noodles everywhere, including into Spot’s face.

“What. The. Hell.”

“Hot,” Race whined. “Hot hot hot hot hot…” He wiped his mouth, hunched over his bowl of noodles, blew on it, and tried to ignore Spot’s boisterous laughter.

“I got a plan,” Spot announced.

“Do you got an ice-cube?”

Spot snickered. He was rummaging through the closet for something or other. “No. It’s Halloween night, and we’re gonna get us some free nourishment.”

“You don’t mean…”

Spot emerged from the closet, brandishing one of his winter hats like it was a sword. “You know exactly what I mean.”

———-

An hour and a half later, the bowl of ramen lay cold and forgotten on Racetrack’s desk. Spot, who claimed not to know a thing about costume design, had nonetheless managed to turn an old sheet into a suitable ghost shroud, and cut eye holes into his black winter hat, making a robber of himself.

“You think we might be a little old for trick or treating?”

“Age is just a number.”

“Nineteen’s a pretty high number.”  
“Quit talking like we’re a pair of grandpas. We have an advantage,” Spot said, as if he were talking to a small child.

“And what’s that, asshole?”

“We’re short, asshole. And if your cuss like that around any little kids tonight, I’m disowning you.”

“I never heard you call yourself short before.” Race was unable to resist the jab at Spot. “It’s kind of a relief. All this time I’ve been thinking you had delusions of grandeur.”

“Height has nothing to do with grandeur, as you will find out tonight, when we get back to our dorms with enough candy to feed us for the next month, and all without paying a cent.”

————-

Spot was right about the candy. By the time he and Racetrack got back to their dorm, they each had a pillowcase full of candy to show for their hard work. He was not right about the prospects of people mistaking the two of them for children, but it turned out not to matter. At least a quarter of campus was wandering around trick or treating. That was the thing about college towns. Before the evening was up, Spot had ditched his sweaty mask, and replaced it with surprisingly good manners, as he chatted with very interested old ladies about his major and plans for the future. They weren’t given quite as much candy as the small children who wandered the streets, but they were strong enough to walk further and cover more ground. It was a good haul.

“I call the licorice,” was the first thing that Racetrack said when they got in the door. There was nothing he loved more than licorice.

“Knock yourself out. I call the candy corn.” Spot had been an ardent fan of candy corn ever since he was small enough to live up to his nickname.

They divided up their candy, and then set to eating it. Racetrack had never had much of a sweet tooth, to be honest. He savored his licorice. Half an hour later, and the same licorice stick he’d started on was still hanging out of his mouth like a cigar. Spot, on the other hand, wasted no time gobbling up fistfuls of candy.

“This is the life, hey Spot?” Racetrack chewed indulgently on the end of his licorice as he spoke.

“Uhhg,” Spot groaned.

“You alright there?”

“Yeah. Just enjoying my candy.”

“Sounds like it,” Race teased. “Try eating something salty to offset it.”

“Like what? Incase you’ve forgotten, this candy is the only food we got in our dorm. We gotta eat it to survive.”

“You could use the ten dollars you won off me.”

“Or I could eat candy and save my cash. I swear to god, Race, you have about as much economic sense as a hamster.” Slowly, and very deliberately, Spot tore open a butterfinger candy bar. Slowly, and very deliberately, Spot ate it.

The next time Racetrack looked up at Spot, there was a decidedly unhealthy sheen to the boy’s freckled complexion. That’s when Race got an idea. That evening’s ramen shined up from his desktop like a beacon of sweet sweet revenge. Racetrack picked it up and presented it to Spot. “Here,” he said. “Try some real food. It’ll make you feel better.”

Spot glared at Race, but he accepted the ramen, slowly putting the spoon to his mouth.

“Enjoy your pasta,” Racetrack crowed. Spot didn’t throw the bowl at him, and it was in that moment that Race knew that he was victorious. It was just too bad that he hadn’t put any money on it.


End file.
